Esperanza Read Online Free PDF Page B

18, expelled passengers, and the drivers called out destinations. She felt uncomfortable in the crowd and moved to a bench against the wall, under the eaves. There. Better. A wall at her back, her own little space on the bench, food in her pack. She was good to go.
    Ian Ritter came through the door, spotted her, and joined her, ticket in hand. “Esperanza on bus thirteen,” he said. “It’s better than staying in that lobby, with the dead guy outside. The body’s still out there.”
    “I’d feel better about it if it weren’t bus thirteen.”
    “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He gave a soft, nervous laugh. “Listen to us. Superstitious grown-ups.”
    “Hey, I’ve yet to find an elevator with a floor thirteen listed.”
    “So you think the superstition is universal?”
    “You look like George Clooney,” she blurted.
    “You remind me of Lauren Bacall in
Dark Passage.
”
    Wow. Bacall? The only other person who had ever told her that was her dad. “One of my all-time favorite movies.”
    “You like old movies?”
    “Some of them. You make it sound like that’s rare.”
    “Rare for me. So why is
Dark Passage
one of your favorites?”
    “Bogie and Bacall. How can you not like everything they were in together? Okay, so the premise is simple. Man is convicted of murdering his wife and goes to prison. He escapes to prove that he’s innocent, Bacall helps him remain free, and he has plastic surgery to change his appearance. But it’s the way it was done—how we don’t see Bogie’s face until the bandages come off. Up until that point, the entire perspective is through his eyes. It tells you a lot about what lies beneath appearances.”
Why the hell did I say that? It sounds like I’m coming on to him.
    Well, wasn’t she?
    “I think
The Big Sleep
is a better movie,” Ian said. “But in
Dark Passage,
you could really feel their chemistry.” He flashed a quick smile. “You know what Bacall’s nickname was?”
    “Slim.” Her dad used to call her that.
Hey, Slim, let’s get a move on.
    Ian looked delighted. “You win the 1957 T-Bird.”
    She laughed and decided it didn’t matter if her heart got broken here.
    “Now, who the hell is George Clooney?” he asked.
    Yeah, okay. Ian from Minneapolis had been living under a rock for the last twenty years. “An actor.”
    “Never heard of him. What movies has he been in?”
    She’d seen all of Clooney’s movies, but only recalled one.
“Ocean’s Eleven.”
    “I thought Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin were in that.”
    “Well, yeah, in the original. But they did a remake.”
    He seemed confused now and she wondered if the altitude was affecting his memory, too. She returned to the number thirteen. “Okay, number thirteen. Among the Greeks, the bad luck day is Tuesday the thirteenth. On most planes, you don’t find a thirteenth seat or a thirteenth row, at least not in planes where the first twelve rows are first class. In some cultures, there’s a superstition that if thirteen people sit at a table for a meal, one of them will die in the next year. And it goes on like that, in country after country, culture after culture.”
    “If I remember my trivia correctly, I think the fear of the number thirteen is called ‘triskaidekaphobia.’ ”
    “That’s a mouthful,” she said, laughing.
    One of the scrawny dogs, a black Lab, crept over to them, tail betweenhis legs, as though he expected to be hit. But his tea-colored eyes, so wolflike, so primal, denied that impression. He looked up at her and Tess brought out an empanada, broke off a piece, set it on the ground in front of him. The dog hesitated, eyes flicking from the food to her face, as though he thought it might be a trick to grab him, haul him off. He finally drew closer and gobbled up the food. She put a second piece in the center of her palm, held out her hand. The dog wagged his tail, sniffed her hand, and delicately took the piece of empanada. Then he sat right up against her legs,